


key lime pie

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: On the Outside Looking In [18]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: CEO Oliver Queen, Charity Event, Cute Oliver Queen, Eventual Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Executive Assistant Felicity Smoak, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, POV Outsider, Season 2, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, outside looking in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: The Queen Matriarch watches as Oliver’s gaze subconsciously tracks the whipped cream on Felicity’s lips, and then he’s moving, casually reaching over and swiping the rest of the dessert from her mouth before bringing his thumb up to his own lips.He licks the sugar off of his finger, not faltering in the slightest as he nods along to whatever Mr. Jameson is saying.(Or, at a charity gala meant to be gathering donations to help fund a Youth Clinic in the Glades, Moira, Diggle, and a few cheery businessmen get to witness the sheer lack of awareness Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak have when it comes to understanding just who they are to each other. As Diggle puts it, it’s infuriating, really).
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: On the Outside Looking In [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1319063
Comments: 128
Kudos: 499





	key lime pie

**Author's Note:**

> hello! once agian, i have no clue what this is. I kinda wanted to see if I could bang out a fic in a minimal amount of time. I did! (kinda sorta). I didn't really proofread/edit as much as I should have, so I apologize for any errors/gaps in content/if it seems kinda choppy. 
> 
> I just wanted to get this out there and have been using this fic as a form of procrastination and, becuase i know myself as a person, i knew that if i didn't at least post this, i wouldn't get to working what i should be working on. So bare with me!
> 
> Also, I did snip the key lime pie part from Pretty Little Liars where Ezra and Aria are eating pie and Ezra does the whole lip wipey thing. Thought it was cute. Thought it would be even _cuter_ with Oliver and Felicity, ipso facto, this fic. 
> 
> (Alsoo, even though I don't really have any sort of timeline in this series, I'd like to think that this charity event is the one that Oliver and Laurel were discussing in the beginning of [How Not to Peel an Orange](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445042/chapters/51101959), but whatever floats your boat.)
> 
> Anway, hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

“Ah, Oliver. There you are,” Moira’s voice sounds a few feet from Oliver’s spot leaning against the polished wooden bar. There’s a regality about her tone – a formalness to the lilt in her voice that let’s Oliver know she’s with  _ important  _ people – and it’s with a small puff of exasperation that Oliver pulls a polite smile onto his face.

Moira watches as her son turns away from the conversation he’d been intensely immersed in with Mr. Diggle and Miss Smoak, and it’s her turn to feel a wave of exasperation wash over her body, because where Oliver’s expression is all charm and playboy billionaire, there’s a small glint in his eye that lets his mother know that his thoughts are a million miles away.

She has to admit she’s a little disappointed in the lack of focus on Oliver’s part tonight. This is a charity ball, after all, and even though she had understood the presence of Oliver’ bodyguard and executive assistant, she’d hoped he’d at least put a little more effort into charming a few donations out of the wealthier patrons at the gala.

Instead, every time her eyes had sought out the eldest Queen child, she had found Oliver keeping to the shadows – chatting with Mr. Diggle, clinking champagne flutes with Miss Smoak, even going as far as subtly slipping up next to Thea and snagging her glass of wine away whenever she’d turn her head, offering her sparing sips of his own drink instead.

The last Moira had seen, he had positioned himself near the bar, forgoing dancing and mingling with Starling City’s elite for intercepting Thea every time the underage girl would try to sneak around behind the wooden counter.

Moira had watched with strange pride as Oliver’s hand had instinctively snatched out and wrapped around Thea’s arm without so much as a turn of his head. Thea had been a snarling ball of pouts and growls, ranting about how incredibly ironic it was that  _ he  _ was the one standing between her and a fun night, but Oliver had just smiled lightly at her grumbling, his eyes filled with a sort of desperation, before messing up her hair with an affectionate quip.

Moira knew that look all too well – the heart wrenching longing for a past that would never come back. 

It was the same one Oliver had gotten when he had first returned home. 

Thea’s face had sparked like the sun, all radiance and laughter and light when he had slipped out of the car, but all Oliver could do was stare at her with red stained eyes and a burning throat before she had barreled right into him.

Thea had hit Oliver with so much force that they had fallen to the ground, and Moira had been ten thousand times concerned for Oliver’s reaction because, aside from the hug at the hospital, her sweet boy had been completely devoid of any sort of warmth or emotion.

But then Thea’s laughter had filled the air – a sound Moira hadn’t heard for  _ five years _ \- and Oliver had scooped her into his arms, pressed a firm kiss into her hair, and  _ sobbed _ . 

Moira’s pulled from her thoughts when she catches Oliver’s raised eyebrow. He’s still half turned towards Mr. Diggle and Miss Smoak, and even though he’s seemingly slouched against the bar, Moira doesn’t miss the slight bruising beneath his eyes and the rigid sharpness of his shoulders.

“Oliver,” Moira says again, this time reaching out to grasp his forearm and pull him forward. “I was just telling Mr. Jameson and Mr. Jones about the mission of this little charity ball.”

She sends her son an encouraging smile when he stares blankly at her, his head still  _ clearly _ wrapped up in whatever conversation Mr. Diggle and Miss Smoak had halted right as Moira had pulled into earshot.

“The Youth Center that’s being implemented in the Glades,” Moira prompts, her eyes widening slightly. “These men were just speaking to Miss Lance and heard that this was  _ your  _ idea, more so than the Board’s at least.”

Moira sees the moment Oliver snaps his attention away from trying to listen to whatever Miss Smoak is whispering to the larger bodyguard. She hears something along the lines of  _ Ooh, pie!  _ and  _ Grab it, Digg, my arm’s too short!  _ and she’s about to scowl because  _ it’s rare that anyone actually pays attention to the small desserts the waiters parade around the room  _ but then Oliver’s stepping forward to shake the hands of the two older businessmen.

And there’s a  _ smile  _ on his face.

A real, honest, innocent smile that Moira knows has absolutely nothing to do with the men in front of Oliver and  _ everything  _ to do with the giggling blonde behind him.

It’s a small one, and it’s desperately fleeting because as soon as Oliver realizes he’s doing it it’s gone, but Moira saw it nonetheless.

That marks three – three genuine, unhindered, unforced smiles that Moira Queen has seen from her son since his return from the island.

“We’d love to hear more about your ideas, Mr. Queen,” Mr. Jameson, the taller of the two, says as he clasps Oliver’s hand. “Regardless, you can count on our donation, but we’d rather know the in’s and out’s of the plan that QC’s been so dedicated to implementing.”

“Of course,” Oliver nods. “And Queen Consolidated’s not actually tied to the Youth Center in any way, although that is something we’re hoping to approach the board with.”

Oliver tilts his head to his mother.

“After all, QC is a family company, and with the Glades being such a large part of Starling City, it feels like a natural first step to make the community a safer, happier place.”

“As opposed to, you know, ignoring the deprived population, removing employment opportunities, and continuing to propagate the cycle of crime and poverty that everyone seems to fault the people of the Glades for without acknowledging the  _ very _ obvious and in-your-face fact that it’s the elit- ,” 

Felicity Smoak’s muttering stops the second she glances up from where she prods her small key lime pie with her fork. She flushes, a bright red blush painting over her features, and her eyes widen when she realizes that everyone’s eyes are on her.

“ _ Not  _ that there aren’t other factors,” she stutters out quickly, her eyebrows shooting up as she offers a weary laugh. “And when I say  _ elite _ I don’t mean  _ you  _ eli -,”

“Actually,” Oliver interjects as he places his hand on Felicity’s shoulder. Moira’s surprised to hear the amused lilt to his tone – surprised to see Mr. Diggle turning away to hide a grin as Felicity squeezes her eyes shut. “Miss Smoak, here, came up with a good sum of the ideas that are actually being put into action, specifically the initiative hoping to enable Wi-Fi and internet access to the large majority of homes in the Glades that normally go without.”

“Miss Smoak,” Mr. Jameson repeats. “You’re Mr. Queen’s EA, yes?”

“Felicity,” the blonde corrects. “And I’d like to think of myself as more of an executive expert on all things technology related who knows a  _ lot  _ more about streamlining the X1 project over in Applied Sciences than I do about the secretarial arts but, yeah, employment-wise, Oliver’s EA,” Felicity mutters casually, more to herself than anyone else as she glances at the ground, and once again, Moira finds herself stifling a small frown until she chances a glance at her son.

Oliver’s  _ beaming. _

Alright, not  _ beaming _ per chance, but if anyone were to look at him, they’d take the slight upward tilt of his lips and the lighthearted gleam in his eyes as something  _ very  _ close to a smile.

It only deepens when Felicity quickly pulls her eyes from her pie to glance at Oliver, a wild look on her face.

“ _ Not  _ that I’m complaining, I love my job and I like that I can actually see how we are helping the city. It’s hard to get that same validation when you’re recovering a lost email password,” Felicity babbles frantically, and Moira doesn’t miss the way Mr. Diggle and Oliver share a fond look over the IT expert’s head. “And M.I.T. was a beautiful  _ beautiful _ place that taught me that my fingers can do  _ so  _ much,” Felicity cringes hard.

“Because they can type!” she squeals, her voice startlingly high. “M.I.T. taught me  _ computers _ . I didn’t really do much to help with the social side of things.” She pauses. “As I’m sure you’re all already…noticing,” Felicity sputters out a slight cough before sighing in defeat.

Her silence is short lived though, because there’s a loud breath falling from Oliver’s lips that sounds eerily familiar to a laugh and she’s winding her hand back and slapping it against his arm.

“ _ Aye _ ,” he gripes, and even though he’s scowling and his eyebrows are pulled into a furrow, there’s a lightheartedness in his eyes that Moira can’t help but appreciate.

Felicity’s hand shoots out again to slap against Mr. Diggle’s broad chest as well when the larger man tries to hide a laugh behind a muffled cough.

“You two  _ suck, _ you know that?” Felicity huffs, and it’s really impressive, Moira thinks, that Felicity can transition from being fully aware of her surroundings to completely oblivious so quickly.

“Come on, Felicity,” she breathes out in a low growl that Moira assumes to be the imitation of one of the men. “Come to the gala, even though it’s your day off and technically  _ not  _ a QC event, it’ll be  _ fun _ .”

“No, Oliver,” Felicity continues glaring at the man in question as she switches her tone back to her own voice. “Gala’s make me nervous and when I’m nervous I  _ babble.” _

“Don’t worry, Felicity. No one’s going to put you in a position to make you anxious,” she smothers out again, her voice even lower as she turns her glare onto the bodyguard. “I’ll be there, too. We can stick to the walls.”

“Why  _ yes,  _ Digg. Of course you’ll be there, you’re Oliver’s bodyguard,” she snarls. “It’s your literal job to  _ guard _ his  _ body.” _

“There’s wine,” Felicity mocks all sing-songy, her voice switching back to her “Oliver” tone. “And crab cakes and mini quiches and pie.  _ Key lime pie.” _

Moira sees Mr. Jones and Mr. Jameson grinning amusedly at the way Felicity engages in a three-way argument all by herself. Diggle’s got his own fond grin on his face, completely happy to take the verbal admonishment Felicity is raining down on him.

But then Moira glances at Oliver, and she feels her breath catch a little, because where Mr. Jones, Mr. Jameson, and Mr. Diggle are all enjoying this impromptu, one-woman act, Oliver’s completely wrapped up in Felicity’s  _ everything. _

There’s something far more than amusement and kinship lingering in his gaze - something that Moira’s never seen from him despite his many relationships in the past. 

It’s warmer, tender – so undeniably  _ affectionate  _ that it’s kind of startling to realize Oliver has no idea he’s doing it.

It’s almost as if he’s afraid to blink, the way his eyes hold Felicity’s gaze when she spins to him in the heat of her little tirade, and Moira and the two older businessmen watch as Felicity’s words completely cut off – as the small blonde becomes just as entranced in Oliver’s stare as he is in hers.

Oliver’s hands are clasped behind his back as he leans forward, and the way he does so, balancing just slightly on his toes, is so  _ boyish  _ that Moira's heart aches.

“At least there’s the free pie,” he murmurs, the warmth in his voice miles away from the tone he uses for everyone else aside from Thea.

And Felicity, apparently.

Oliver’s eyes twinkle – they  _ twinkle  _ – as Felicity glances down at the slice of key lime pie still balanced in her hands.

“Yeah,” she huffs, already angrily scooping some more of the dessert onto her fork. “Yeah, you’re lucky there  _ is _ pie, Oliver Queen,” she snarls, but there’s absolutely no malice in her words. She looks like she’s about to say something else but then she pauses, fixes Oliver with a firm glare, and shoves the fork into her mouth instead.

“Well, Miss Smoak,” Mr. Jameson starts - ,

“Felicity,” she corrects around the fork, her words muffling in a way that pulls another small grin onto Oliver’s face.

“ _ Felicity, _ ” Mr. Jameson nods with his own genuine smile. “I can promise you that your “babbling,” as you put it, has only been indicative of the passion you have – passion that Mr. Jones and I can assume you channel into the projects at hand.”

Mr. Jones gives an affirmative nod, and the older man lets out a good-natured laugh at the wide-eyed expression on Felicity’s face.

Oliver’s smiling at her too, all soft and confident and  _ proud. _

“Now,” Mr. Jones says, “Tell us about the self-defense component of the Youth Clinic. What’s the game plan there?”

Moira’s heart swells a tiny bit when Oliver and Diggle perk up at the question, and Oliver gives the larger man a quick nod before Diggle launches into the specifics.

Oliver and Felicity interject here and there and Moira’s impressed - really, truly impressed - because the Youth Clinic is starting to sound like more of a reality than a fantasy, and Moira knows it’s only because of the sleepless nights Oliver, Mr. Diggle, and Felicity have put into the project. 

She takes a step back to really take in the three standing in front of her, and, not for the first time, Moira feels a wave of gratefulness towards Oliver’s companions. 

Mr. Diggle and Oliver are chatting the two older businessmen up, talking about self-defense training and building a gym for underprivileged and angry youth so that they have a place to channel their anger.

Felicity, on the other hand, has allowed her focus to fall back to her pie, very purposefully dissociating from the conversation when it had turned from technology to punching bags, and the way she grins at it before shoving her fork into the crust is so very  _ innocent  _ and yeah, Moira can kind of see why many people find the young blonde so fascinating.

Moira tracks Felicity’s movement as she shoves a huge bite into her mouth, whipped cream catching on her pink stained lips. Her eyes light up the moment the pie hits her tongue and it’s as if she’s tasting it for the first time - it’s as if she’s delighted to be here, in  _ this _ moment, because she gets to eat  _ pie _ .

It’s then that Moira starts to understand just how instrumental Felicity may be in mending her son back together.

Life is  _ hard _ . Oliver’s life, most of the time, is downright heartbreaking.

But, through Felicity’s eyes, it seems as if life is also something a thousand times worth appreciating, and exploring, and  _ living. _

Oliver needs that.

He  _ wants  _ it, too.

Moira can see it in the way he holds Felicity’s gaze and encourages her rants and mirrors her every move, and Moira thinks that if someone can make her boy want to actually  _ live  _ his life - with laughter and aching smiles and friendships and light - even after all the horrors he’s been through, then that someone must be at least a little bit extraordinary.

A small hum of delight rumbles from the small blonde’s chest and her eyes flutter shut momentarily, her head swaying in time with the music as she chews slowly.

Moira watches, her gaze curious and analytical, as Oliver’s head tilts subconsciously towards the sound. He’s still engaging in conversation – still talking numbers and logistics with the three other men – but Moira can see that his full attention has shifted towards a smiling blonde. 

His gaze strays over to Felicity as he answers another one of Mr. Jones’s questions, and a smile stretches over his lips when she looks up, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

(That’s three real smiles in under ten minutes, and Moira’s heart swirls with all the warm things – with sun rays and crackling firewood and Christmas lights.)

Felicity beams up at Oliver, her eyebrows raising in approval as she nods down at the pie. Oliver matches her grin, continuing to answer Mr. Jones’ list of questions as his eyes drop down to where a small swirl of whipped cream lingers on Felicity’s lips.

He pauses slightly, his words catching as he thinks, but it’s the way Felicity nods encouragingly at Oliver with full faith and confidence that carves a small place in Moira’s heart for the blonde.

Oliver tilts his head just barely, a small  _ thank you _ for Felicity’s eyes only, and even though he resumes his thoughts, his eyes never leave hers. Mr. Jones and Mr. Jameson are leaning in, absorbed in the possibilities for the future. Mr. Diggle’s got his own knowing expression on his face as his eyes drift back and forth between Oliver and Felicity, and Felicity has a proud smile so wide and so bright that Moira feels it in her bones.

The Queen Matriarch watches as Oliver’s gaze subconsciously tracks the whipped cream on Felicity’s lips, and then he’s moving, casually reaching over and swiping the rest of the dessert from her mouth before bringing his thumb up to his own lips. 

He licks the sugar off of his finger, not faltering in the slightest as he nods along to whatever Mr. Jameson is saying. 

The moment’s over before it even really starts – almost as if the action is something Oliver does everyday – but that’s  _ exactly  _ what has Moira staring at the two with a slightly tilted head. 

Felicity’s a bit flushed, sure, and she’s pulled the part of her lip that he had grazed between her teeth.

But there’s such practiced comfort in Oliver’s movements around Felicity – in the way he leans back into the bar, brushing shoulders with her - in the way he scoops up some more of the whipped cream that sticks to Felicity’s plate with just enough speed to avoid her small swat with the fork – that screams  _ intimacy  _ and  _ trust  _ and  _ familiarity _ .

But there’s also the innocence – the fleeting touches and soft smiles and blushing cheeks – that has Moira wondering if the two even realize just who they are to each other.

Moira hears a slight cough, and when her eyes drift back up, it’s to meet Mr. Diggle’s amused grin.

He nods his head towards the pair before fixing Moira with an exasperated expression.

“Kind of infuriating, isn’t it?”

Moira offers Mr. Diggle an entertained smile, her eyes sliding over to see Oliver staring at Felicity as if she holds the world up on her shoulders, as if she’s somehow trapped the sun, moon, and stars in pockets of gold in her eyes.

Moira huffs out a small laugh.

Infuriating, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think! Comments make me ~happy~!!
> 
> (Also, what are your guys' opinions on the length of a series? I just realized that this bad boy's getting to be pretty hefty (like almost 20 stories) and don't know if there's some sort of series etiquette that I am not aware of. Anywhooo, thanks for reading! Love you all!!)


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